Give A Reason
by jenesaispas05
Summary: Unicorns are nothing but trouble. A deeper look into Meg and her reasons behind fighting for the Winchesters. Megstiel - Takes place during 8x17 Goodbye Stranger


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural nor any of the characters that reside within it.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoiler Alert:** Occurs during 8x17 Goodbye Stranger episode.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters mentioned here.  
**Author's Note:** I was devastated when I watched 8x17 Goodbye Stranger, because although I see the Destiel chemistry, my heart aches for Megstiel! And although it pains me to say this, I have a feeling that Meg may not return. I was also slightly disappointed at how quick her death was, so I wanted to explore the reasons behind her decision on facing Crowley in this episode, and that although her feelings for Castiel at the time was less certain and more gradual, it was still nonetheless very real. I haven't written anything in close to a decade (yeah I'm an oldie), so apologies in advance, but feedback strongly welcomed!

**Give a Reason**

The sounds of her brittle bones being crushed beneath strong hands echoed through the empty parking lot of the Crypt. Each hit sent waves of pain through Meg's vessel as the King of Hell delivered blow after blow of devastating power upon her ravaged body. Despite being a demon that was generally confident in her abilities with one-to-one combat and escape, she knew very well that Crowley would be a lot to handle even before sending Sam away to fetch Dean and Castiel.

_Crunch. _

_Son of a bitch, and there goes my rib cage,_ she thought. Meg tried to recover and swung her angel sword low, aiming for Crowley's lower torso before she felt the weight of what seemed like a small truck connecting to the back of her head and she hit the ground. A grunt escaped her mouth before her face slammed onto the pavement and crumbled beneath her.

_This match isn't going to end well._ She knew this even before sending Sam away, and yet despite knowing very well that this may be the end for her, she refused Sam's protection, and rejected her natural instincts of self-preservation.

So Why…?

"Come on now, Crowley. Is this all the King of Hell has to offer? I have to say I'm disappointed." Her teasing was met by a swift kick delivered to her torso as she flew through the air and into the building across from the one Castiel and the Winchesters were in.

"Now, now, sweetheart. I'm just enjoying a little fun with my favourite whore."

"Fuck!" The pain was excruciating when flesh met concrete. There was a ringing in her ears that wouldn't stop, and every inch of her body felt like it was cut open and trampled on by a stampede of elephants. She was convinced that her meat-suit was at its limit, and the fatal wounds were adding up.

_It would be so easy_, she thought, and struggled to her feet. Just _run and save myself. Leave my meat-suit behind and LIVE, god-dammit. The Winchesters can handle themselves_.

But Meg continued to take a step closer towards Crowley while he twirled the angel blade around his fingers, barely a scratch on that smug, overweight, sad excuse for a vessel.

Another step, and another.

No, she couldn't risk it. She needed to buy the Winchesters more time.

Or rather, she needed to buy Castiel more time.

"Oh Clarence, why did you have to make me feel this way?" She gripped the silver angel sword in her right hand as the internal wounds from her arm made the blade drip crimson.

This was all so new to her. She wasn't used to the feelings that developed, that crept and crawled through her skin when the angel was around. If it was up to her, she would have chosen to continue remaining indifferent and slightly disgusted by his presence. That way, she wouldn't be in this mess, and instead would have escaped as soon as Crowley arrived. But it was too late. She couldn't imagine leaving the newly intact angel at the mercy of the King of Hell. Not if she could help it.

And this is the reason why she might die tonight.

The thought made her chuckle. How long has it been since she's walked this earth, alongside both Azazel and Lucifer, and not so much as batted an eyelash when she murdered her comrades—fellow demons, in order to save herself? How many had she tortured, betrayed and slain in the name of self-preservation?

And here she was, risking it all for a winged, cloud-hopping unicorn.

The idea was laughable, despicable, and incredible – all at once. How many demons can say that they fell for the sworn enemy?

It started with a kiss, aimed to distract him as she 'borrowed' his angel sword to fight off the Hellhounds. She never intended for him to return the favour; to press her up against the wall, forcing those squeaky clean lips against hers, and entangling his fingers in her vessel's raven-black hair while he held her against the wall. That was unexpected. Up until then, she merely tolerated his presence for purposes of surviving against Crowley and doing what she needed to stay alive. He was so uptight, so _righteous_, like he was better than her because he grew up with a pair of wings and a broom up his ass. She would have stabbed him if she had a chance.

But after that kiss, things started to change. It wasn't instant, but gradual. His naivety became less annoying, his voice became less irritating, and those eyes became more…welcoming. Of her? Was he starting to accept her for who she is? A demon with a bad track record, but sort of good, and not entirely bad? Little by little, her curiosity grew. First it was just some innocent teasing and flirting, to see how far she could go, and how much he could take. After a while, she noticed a different glint in those angelic blue eyes, and she caught herself leaning in at the mention of his name, or the call of his voice. Stupid pansy stuff, she hated to admit, but the feelings bloomed, and before she knew it, it was already too late.

He would recite her poetry in the psychiatric ward, and she would hate it, but feel a small sense of satisfaction at his acknowledgement of her presence.

"Will you look at her? My caretaker. All of that thorny pain, so beautiful..," he whispered.

Was that when everything changed? She couldn't remember, but he slowly crept and crawled and squirmed into the small crevice of humanity she had remaining, and she hated it. She was defeated before the battle even began.

Her mind wandered as she covered the remaining distance towards the King of Hell, reliving and reflecting on past memories and future nothings.

_I guess we'll never get to move that furniture, and order that pizza,_ she chuckled to herself. Those deep blue eyes will never get the chance to run his gaze over the curves of her body. That first kiss will now be their last. And although she never received a great deal of affirmation about his feelings for her, she wasn't at all bothered by it.

Perhaps this was all a mistake. In fact, she was convinced that all those millennia of fighting has given her demon entity a metaphysical concussion, or else, why the hell (pun intended) was she giving up her life to save the Winchesters and this angel?

This was all so frustrating for her.

"Fuck my life," she grumbled, and charged at Crowley. The adrenaline rushed through her vessel, and slashed at her enemy with a renewed ferocity. All the anger, fear, disgust, confusion, and passion…? Was poured into every swing, every swipe and kick. She grinned as the King of Hell's expression changed from mild indifference to shock as she fought for her life, and that blasted unicorn's as well.

"Go back to Hell, Crowley," she hissed, and took another stab, but this time she was met yet again by the power of his fist on her neck, and she fell. Blood ran down her face and rose in her throat. Her vessel was broken in every nook and cranny as Crowley gripped her leather collar tight and lifted her now limp body off the wet pavement ground, stained in red.

The King of Hell's lips curved into a smile. "I can beat on you…for eternity," he growled.

Blood was flowing through her teeth, and the metallic taste was making it difficult for her to speak, but she refused to give him the last word. At least she could do this much.

"Take all the time you want…you pig," she struggled to whisper the comeback through all that blood flooding into her mouth, but a smile escaped her lips as she saw the shadows of two Winchesters slipping into their black Impala, and with Castiel nowhere in sight.

_This is it_, she told herself. Her eyes trailed to the vehicle and the sound of its engine as Crowley's gaze followed. The look on his face, filled with anger and frustration, almost made up for a good portion of the beating.

"No Cas in the back seat. Your stone is long gone." And gripping the angel sword tight in her right hand, Meg used the last reserves of her body to thrust the blade into Crowley's arm as electricity sparked and he cried out in pain.

She met his gaze, and in a matter of seconds, could feel his blade pierce through meat and bone, connecting to her entity, to her soul, while a burning sensation enveloped her body and she screamed in pain. All the anguish and fight she had left was replaced by the unexplainable agony running through her veins, her soul. It was burning, and she could feel the world darkening around her. There was no escape, she was caught and trapped in this vessel with her dying breath as it continued to torch every piece of her.

In defiance, Meg willed one last memory to surface before she disappeared. Intense, ocean blue eyes appeared before her. This man had short, chestnut brown hair and a small smile spread across his face, dressed in a khaki trench coat and a reversed blue tie. He was an angel of the Lord – a warrior—fierce, merciless, holy and righteous. He smites demons with not so much as a thought, and yet there he was, eyes gentle and warm as he listened to her intimate proposition, watching her, unblinking and unwavering, with that ghost of a smile.


End file.
